


Here Comes The Flood

by cells55



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cells55/pseuds/cells55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything can change in an instant.<br/>Post-finale, very angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Comes The Flood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliope_Soars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliope_Soars/gifts).



_Nine_

 

In his nightmares he sees sheets of rain. At first the silence creeps in, leaving nothing but darkness and water cascading like black ribbon, and then the roaring starts, the endless twisting, howling wind.

  
He wakes up each time shaking, shivering. Coated in sweat.

  
Soon he decides that sleep isn't worth the stress, and then the storm is only in his heart and not in his head. He thinks no one can see it there but they can; it starts to take over every inch of him, his gaze darkening, his movements muddied and lacking precision. Anyway, it's naive of him to think that his pain is invisible. They watch him warily, everyone on a knife edge waiting for him to fall.

  
He knows it's coming. It is immutable. Maybe, he hopes, once the storm has swept him under, there truly will be nothing but quiet, empty nothingness.

  
And then he'll be able to sleep.

 

____

 

_One_

 

His ma liked to tell people he was born in a thunder storm. She enjoyed a dramatic story, choosing to smooth over the actual tension and stress of the night so she could spin a good yarn. It took him a while to figure out the message behind the story, that maybe the clouds that followed him around and drenched his chances at happiness until they were nothing but soggy lumps on the ground had actually been there since birth. This realisation, at the tender age of eighteen, was a rough one for anyone to take; at first, he tried wearing it like a badge of honour. He was like one of the great stoic, slate-faced idols he so looked up to - surrounded by sadness, but still able to crack out a one-liner and down a glass of single malt.

 

But as he got older, it sunk in that maybe it wasn't a good thing, that maybe being stoic was okay for ninety minutes on a big screen, but living that life every second of every day was like having his heart slowly chipped away at until nothing would be left. And that wasn't what he wanted.

 

Christina was an attempt to change course. He fell, and fell hard, which was apt given that the marriage ended with him emotionally flat on his face. Every chance at happiness, he grabbed with both hands like he was starved for it. For a long time afterwards, he'd thought that happiness just wasn't something that could sit in his palms. Mindy helped him realise that Christina had made that happiness too smooth, too shiny to keep hold of. She had worn down so many rough edges that there wasn't anything left of him anymore. Seeing her entwined around another guy, between the sheets she had insisted he buy, helped rough him up again, of course. Maybe he should've been grateful for that.

 

Flying back from India, a hail Mary pass that he had not really thought through, he considered that Mindy, a woman normally so vibrant and sunny, had been brought under his raincloud now too. He wasn't sure how to clear the weather, he never had been. But no one else had made him want to before.

 

It didn't occur to him that perhaps wanting it wasn't going to be enough.

 

____

 

_Two_

 

She was awake when he got home; she watched him wheel his suitcase into the bedroom, her eyes tired but wary, like he could have come back a different person. Her hand rested on the swell of her belly almost like an afterthought, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

 

"Hey."

 

She paused, studying his face a moment, before she spoke too. "Hi." She glanced at the suitcase. "How was Texas?"

 

He sighed; Morgan had already texted him to say that he had spoken to Mindy from the wedding, never mind the fact that her mom had been waxing lyrical about the email she was going to send her daughter once he'd left. He knew the cat was out of the bag. "Min, look - I'm sorry - "

 

"I don't want to fight." Her interruption was quiet but clear. "I mean, I do, because I think we need to - but not now." She suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable; he moved towards her like she was a magnet. "I missed you."

 

He came to a halt on the edge of the bed, one hand joining hers on her belly, the other finding it's natural resting place at her cheek. "I missed you too, Min. So much."

 

The kiss lingered, soft and sweet with an edge of desperation to it that stirred something inside him. He felt that familiar desire wash over him again, the need to touch her, to drink her in, to press his lips to the soft curve of her neck and drag his fingertips across her silk-like skin. She had always inspired a reaction from him, even when they weren't friends; the reaction had changed so slowly over time that he almost hadn't noticed the heat of anger and irritation melt into lust and love so raw that it burned him.

 

Even though it had only been a matter of days since they'd seen each other last, he knew she felt it too; her fingernails raked through his hair, skittered across the pulse point on his neck, slipped under his shirt.

 

Fighting was unavoidable. But so was this.

 

____

 

_Three_

 

"You can't just cross an ocean and expect it to change everything!"

 

Her voice was thin, just barely hiding the anger and frustration beneath; there were tears in her eyes as she stood across from him. Although she was just on the other side of the coffee table, there might as well have been a hemisphere between them.

 

"I didn't," he replied, trying not to sound weary. "I don't. I know that there's still stuff to work on, but I thought - "

 

"What? That if you met my parents, I wouldn't mind so much that you don't want to marry me?" She knew how to choose the sharpest words, but it was the weight of emotion behind them that cut him the most. "That blonde whore Christina was good enough to marry, but what am I, right? Just the woman carrying your son, no big deal."

 

"That's not - she _wasn't_ good enough to marry, Min," he pointed out, trying to round the table to get closer to her. She moved back, keeping the distance like an armour around her. "Marriage is fucked up, it doesn't work."

 

"No - marriage with _her_ didn't work." She folded her arms across her chest defensively. "I don't see why I should be punished for her mistakes. I'm not _her_ , Danny."

 

"I know you're not."

 

Her eyes rolled to the heavens. "So then stop treating me like it. Marriages don't just repeat, you know. I'm a different person, I'll make mistakes - we both will - but we'll deal with them. Because we have everything else we need."

 

"That's what I thought, too, the first time round," he told her quietly. "It's not personal, Min, it's not about - "

 

"How can you say it's not personal?" she asked, a tear finally speeding down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly. "How can you say that? You won't marry me because you think we'll fail. How is that not personal?"

 

He didn't know the answer. He didn't know anything, really, so fucked up at relationships that any common sense or logic had been rubbed away till it was too faint to make out anymore.

 

"I love you," he offered.

 

She sat down heavily, and closed her eyes. "I know you do."

 

____

 

_Four_

 

It was raining - biblically raining. Wrath of the almighty, build a boat raining. The road was slick, glossy like it had been varnished; the pale yellow streetlights only highlighted the streams of water being emptied from the sky. He had seen darkness before, of course he had, but this was darker somehow, a muffled blackness that sat overhead. He was always a careful, steady driver, but something about the coils of the road, so familiar by day, made his knuckles a little whiter.

 

It had taken a lot of persuasion to get her out of the house. Fighting had simmered to a palpable layer of tension, not helped by the fact that she wasn't allowed to work because of the pre-eclampsia. Being stuck inside all day, even with the company of Netflix and his panini press, had taken its toll on her mood. Even so, going out into the miserable weather on a tired Wednesday night had not seemed that appealing to her. He'd had to pledge to stop at every McDonalds drive-thru between their place and the store in Long Island. The five empty McFlurry cartons on the back seat proved he kept at least  _some_ of his promises.

 

"We're missing Real Housewives." Her voice was heavy, no real energy behind her scolding. Pregnancy had drawn out so many shades in her; exhaustion was the latest to add to the list. "All to spend time in this water-based apocalypse scenario we have going on here."

 

"I DVR'd it for you," he promised, knowing she'd already moved on in her head. Attention span had never been her strong suit, even before he'd knocked her up. "And now we have the perfect nursing chair for the baby's room. You'll be thanking me when you're breast-feeding at 4am."

 

"I doubt it," she replied cheerfully enough. A stronger gust of wind battered the car for a moment; they both focused on the steering wheel. "Ugh. I just want to be at home."

 

"I know you do." He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I do too."

 

It was difficult, after, to place the events in the right order. Did the shriek of tyres come before the blast of oncoming headlights? What came first, the crunch of metal or the sickening twist in his gut as her hand was wrenched from his? It all flashed by in a matter of seconds, an impossible jigsaw to slide back together, pieces scattered to the wind.

 

After the deafening noise, though, he remembered what came last. The silence, and the blackness.

 

____

 

_Five_

 

It was still raining when he woke up. Somehow he could hear the clatter of it above the beeping of machines and murmur of voices around him. It felt pointed, like it was trying to make a statement. But maybe that was his concussion trying to fuck him up even further.

 

He peeled his eyelids open, fighting against every biological urge to just go back to sleep - his body felt like it was weighted down at every point, the heft of the steering wheel still in his chest, the seatbelt cutting into his neck. Of course, when he managed to get a look, all he saw was an off-white blanket and half a dozen wires trailing purposefully across him.

 

Annette Castellano leaned into view; her small form was tense, like she was ready to snap clean in half. There was something in her gaze that he couldn't figure out, and that unsettled him. Usually he could read her expressions, years of training that had stood him well so far. Now he was adrift.

 

"Oh, Danny, sweetheart." She clutched his hand. "How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?"

 

He managed a faint nod, blinking to try to clear some of the haze. "Where's Mindy? Is she okay?"

 

There it was again, a flash of something just out of his reach. "She's...she's okay," Annette replied, a catch in her voice. "She's in surgery, but she's okay. They said - uh - broken ribs? And something about her spleen..."

 

She could live without a spleen. She'd make a big deal out of it, of course she would, but she would live. She was going to be fine. He allowed relief to sink through him for a moment before it came to a halt again, and - "What about the baby?"

 

He wasn't normally one to read silences. But this one was impossible to ignore.

 

____

 

_Six_

 

Even with the door tightly shut, they could still hear it all - sounds of mothers in labour, mothers who would smile and sigh and tear up as their crying newborn was pressed in to their arms. Mothers who would tease their partners about baby names, who would stare down at their child and see a beautiful future spreading out before them.   
In here, though, there was only silence. A woman usually so fiery and loud, muted by the weight of what they were losing. He murmured gentle, encouraging words, but she just nodded each time, didn't meet his gaze. Maybe if she looked at him she would have to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Come face to face with the pain, crippling and oceans-deep. 

  
  
Every contraction sent another thought spiralling in his mind, the recriminations of _if onlys_. If only he had gone alone on that car ride. If only he had found the brake sooner. If only he had swerved the other way, taken the brunt of the impact himself. If only. 

  
  
Instead, there was physical pain etched into her face, and an emotional pain that they could not yet even begin to fully realise.

  
  
He had never felt so helpless in his life.  
  
____

 

 _Seven_  
  
In his life, he had only ever attended three funerals. His dad's parents had both died before he was born. Ma's dad, Grandpa Tony, passed when he was 13. He remembered clearly feeling sad for himself, but mostly sad for his mother, who had spent the day of the funeral pretending she wasn't crying. 

 

Nonna Luisa had followed her husband not three months later. That had been another sad day, but his uncle had brought a pack of cards for Danny and Richie to play, so he mostly remembered being pressed into a corner, teaching his baby brother snap. 

  
  
The only other funeral had been for his ma's cousin Sylvia. She was 45 when she passed, losing a battle against cancer that Danny had taken for granted she would win. 

  
  
All very sad occasions, no doubt about it, and loved ones gone too soon. But all lives that had been lived, and lived well. 

  
  
This was different. Mourning a life that hadn't even begun. And instead of being on the periphery of the grief, he was smack bang in the eye of the hurricane. Too busy desperately clutching on to the ground, trying not to get swept away, to take in the things around him. 

 

Like his loved ones, his colleagues and friends, dressed in black, struggling to find words for the worst day of his life. Like Peter and Gwen, sat like book ends on either side of Mindy, just trying to keep her upright. Like his mother, bustling from one part of the house to another, finding drinks to refill or napkins to tidy away. Like his brother, rooted at his side since they'd returned from the graveside. Richie could've said something, could've attempted conversation, but Danny wouldn't know it. Everything was a white noise. 

  
  
He felt as if he should be doing more. Of what exactly he didn't know, but surely this wasn't his job, to sit in the corner clutching a glass of water like it might save his life. It was like looking through a window on to his own life, but the glass was smeared and dirty and nothing was clear. How could he be any help when he couldn't see clearly?

  
  
So he didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't eat the plate of food his ma set down in front of him, didn't notice her tidy it away an hour later. Barely aware of guests slowly filtering out, giving him and Mindy heartfelt best wishes that neither of them could hear let alone comprehend. He had a whole conversation with Annette and Richie before they left, he was sure of it, but what he or they said he had no idea. 

  
  
All that was left now was the two of them, and the acres of space in between. 

______

_Eight_

 

He felt like he had spent too much time watching people leave. Suitcases, sometimes; other times, just an empty closet and a sobbing woman in the kitchen, insisting she was fine. It hadn't hurt to watch his wife leave; it had been predictable, and numb, and a million things other than painful. He'd built himself up a shell over the years so that the sting wasn't there. That was just smart, as far as he was concerned. But any protective shell that used to exist around his heart had been broken, and ironically enough, broken by the woman who was leaving him now.

 

Every piece of clothing that got slotted away and out of the closet he built for her was another nail in the coffin, and he wanted to say something, anything at all, but the words had dried up in his throat the minute she told him she was going. To San Francisco, not that it mattered where it was, not really - it was away from him, away from the memories and away from the promise of a family which had been snatched out of their hands.

 

She had cried when she told him. She cried a lot, lately, and he knew that every tear was his punishment. Not that she said as much, but he knew that what had happened was not down to some drunk driver or slippery roads. It was another failure to add to the list of failures that he might as well have tattooed on his heart. The more his ma told him it wasn't his fault, the less he believed her. And Mindy didn't need to say anything for him to know she felt the same way.

 

Maybe this had been inevitable all along. No way would it have truly lasted, not under the weight of his baggage, his inability to change, the climate of anger and disappointment that followed him everywhere. But the unavoidable nature of the situation didn't make it hurt any less. Every second that passed hurt viscerally, stung like a fresh cut, and he knew that as soon as she packed the last sweater and stepped out the door, out his life, that the pain would come crashing around him like waves. Waves that would drown him.

 

They lost their child, their glimmering future fading in a flash of headlights. And now he had lost her, too.

 

His gaze followed her bare hands as they zipped shut the final suitcase; she hadn't worn polish since the hospital, when they took it off for her surgery, and more than her manicure had gone that night. She looked like less of a person without her usual adornments - no sparkles at her ears, no towering heels. Instead she was hidden away in jeans and a sweater. A different person. A new person, who didn't want to meet his gaze anymore.

 

He stood by the door as she left. Her voice shook with the force of her goodbye, all the words they hadn't said hiding behind it, useless and empty now. There was nothing left to do but accept her kiss on his cheek, even though it seared through him like fire and ice all at once, and watch her go.

 

After the door closed behind her, he sat down to wait.

 

For what, he didn't know.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy. This has been brewing for just over a month now, twas finally time to let it loose on the world...  
> But at least I now have the angst out of my system in time for s4!


End file.
